The Grieving Tree: The Dragon Below Book II by Don Bassingthwaite Read Free Book Online Page B

asked Ashi.
    “Probably,” said Geth as they moved through the crowds on one of Zarash’ak’s broader streets. The sun was high; the day was hot. He, the hunter, and Orshok had lingered at Natrac’s house well after the others had gone. Geth had luxuriated in the shade of the canopy on Natrac’s rooftop, napping on a stomach full of bread and honey and grateful for the first day in weeks that there was no need to paddle a boat or hike across country. He twisted as he walked, loosening muscles that had been knotted for too long and added, “Singe likes to think he’s clever.”
    “He
is
clever,” Orshok pointed out.
    Geth gave the young orc a glare but bared his teeth in a grin, too. “When you’ve known Singe for as long as I have, you get used to him. You can tell when he’s up to something. I would have known he was trying to get rid of us even you hadn’t said anything, Orshok.”
    The druid looked vaguely disappointed. “You would have?”
    “A clever man is most vulnerable when he’s trying to be clever. Someone wise told me that.”
    “Who?” asked Orshok suspiciously.
    “Robrand d’Deneith, the man who recruited me and Singe into the Frostbrand company of the Blademarks when we were your age. One of the greatest commanders to ever lead a Blademarks company.” Geth let out a little snarl of satisfaction. “He had Singe figured out. The old man could keep him in knots if he wanted to.”
    Ashi’s face darkened. “So we fooled Singe by doing exactly what he wanted us to do?” She looked down at Geth. “How is that outwitting him?”
    “Because we chose to do this ourselves.” He stretched his arms out in the bright sunlight. His ancient Dhakaani sword was a weight at his side, but he’d left his great gauntlet behind. There was no need for it and the day was too pleasant to worry about armor. “I like House Tharashk—they tend to be more honest than other dragonmarked houses—but I don’t want to spend all day going from tavern to tavern talking to them.”
    “That was Singe’s argument, too,” said Orshok. “We’re doing what he wanted for exactly the reason he said we should.”
    Geth opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. He gave Orshok another glare. This time the orc smiled. So did Ashi. Geth glowered. “Come on,” he grumbled, “Let’s see what we can see.”
    They followed the crowds, less out of any random choice than out of another principle handed down by Robrand d’Deneith: where there were people, there would be something interesting. Geth’s old commander’s wisdom didn’t fail them. They wandered through a market where merchants from beyond the Shadow Marches offered the finest items from across Khorvaire. They passed a theater where criers called out the coming evening’s bill, while mummers on the other side ofthe street gave a show for thrown coins. At a shrine dedicated to the Sovereign Host, they stopped and went inside so that Orshok and Ashi could marvel at a faith unfamiliar to both of them. Geth stood by the door, nodding to the priests tending the shrine, as the druid and the hunter stared at the shining images of the nine gods.
    Orshok gave him a solemn look as they left the shrine. “When the daelkyr came from Xoriat to invade Eberron during the Daelkyr War, the Gatekeepers fought them. We sealed the gates to Xoriat and bound the surviving daelkyr in Khyber. What did the Sovereign Host do?”
    “I don’t—” Geth ground his teeth together. “Ask Singe. He’s the clever one. Who’s hungry?”
    The streets of Zarash’ak were dotted with vendors selling cheap food that people bought and carried with them, eating as they walked. Geth had seen the process when they had been in Zarash’ak before: he led Ashi and Orshok to one stall where they bought thick rounds of
ashi
bread, then on to another to buy roast vegetables or spicy grilled meat to stuff inside. The meat was snake—Orshok insisted on checking stalls until he found some that